


... And so, Hawke took a long nap

by riftclosing



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:14:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23755195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riftclosing/pseuds/riftclosing
Summary: Hawke fights the Arishok and promptly passes out
Relationships: Female Hawke/Merrill, Hawke/Merrill
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	... And so, Hawke took a long nap

**Author's Note:**

> im just sitting here.  
> this is Abigail: https://66.media.tumblr.com/7704dcc90c585c60b97eb6de2945fb86/88d06b64ccb30a21-23/s1280x1920/0ecead0ed59965f1e5ea60d8328244d464654d29.jpg

Abigail stood over the body of the Arishok, still tense as she waited for him to stand up and attack her once more. Her posture remained rigid as she readjusted her grip on her greataxe. Her hands were warm and uncomfortable, sweaty under her gloves, the leather sticking to her skin. All was quiet as nobles and qunari alike watched with bated breath as the Arishok’s chest continued to rise and fall.

She was not the type to pray for another person’s death, but after the night she had had, no one could blame her for what she muttered under her breath. Her tongue nursed the inside of her mouth, the skin of which had been torn from her biting her cheek during the fight. Her vision had begun to blur after a particularly nasty hit to the head she’d sustained. There were two, sometimes three, Arishoks laying in front of her. Her right leg had somehow gotten cut, and she could feel the blood running down and collecting in her boot. If he got up again, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to survive for more than a minute.

He raised an arm and she tensed even further. Whatever he said was garbled by the ringing in her ears; it was something about Submission to the Qun, her least favorite phrase as of late.

The tense silence continued for a few more moments until, finally, his chest finally stopped moving.

FUCK.

Abigail let out a gasp and dropped her greataxe to the ground, sucking air into her lungs greedily as she fought to catch her breath. It dropped with a harsh metallic clang that only served to make her feel dizzier. She wasn’t able to get her helmet off fast enough as her hands shook, dropping it unceremoniously next to her weapon. She doubled over and placed her hands on her knees as she continued to wheeze. The adrenaline was leaving her body very quickly and things were starting to hurt even more quickly. In her own opinion, she was also still wearing far too much. It felt like the armor was suffocating and she had half a mind to start stripping herself out of it if it wouldn’t have scandalized her friends and the remaining nobles.

She barely registered the qunari leaving the keep. They moved so quietly for people so large. They walked around her and the downed Arishok, not sparing a second glance to the man that they had been following for so many years. Kirkwall would have to deal with the Arishok’s body or empty vessel, she supposed. She stared at his slumped form as blood spilled from a wound in his side, darkening the carpet, and thought about how close she had been to becoming little more than a stain as well. She wouldn’t have liked her body being left alone when those who knew her could have easily taken it away. Her too-dry tongue attempted to wet her lips. She should make an effort to give rights to more of those she felled.

Meredith and Orsino came, questions bubbling from their mouths. Hawke barely had the strength to turn her gaze from her foe or move from her closed posture. When she managed it, Meredith searched her face for answers. She took in the bloodsoaked carpet, the unmoving Arishok, and finally Abigail, standing over him and making a poor attempt at quieting her harsh breathing.

Meredith said something then, called her Champion, a title that she wouldn’t truly recognize as herself until some days of rest later. The nobles in the keep cheered and surged towards her, but the Knight-Commander and her templars demanded they give Abigail a wide berth. The complaints of the nobles began to grate on her ears. She focused on her friends instead.

Merrill was kissing her cheek and muttering thank yous to her gods. Abigail wasn’t sure when she’d gotten over to her, but she leaned into her affections, letting her eyes briefly flutter closed while Merrill traced patterns on her arm. Varric was speaking in hushed tones to a dwarf she’s never seen. She heard ‘Anders’ and the young man took off. That, more than how awful her body felt, confirmed that she was in very poor condition. Aveline gathered her weapons for her, figuring that Abigail would be too tired to take them on her own. The image of Aveline struggling with the size of her greataxe would have been cause to laugh any other day, but all Abigail could manage was a sharp wheezing noise.

The Knight-Commander had a retinue of templars walk her and her friends back to her estate. Abigail had never been a fan of the estate’s proximity to the Viscount’s Keep until that very day when every footstep felt like she was carrying weights tied to her ankles. She expected the streets to be silent in the wake of the attack as families began to piece things back together and find their loved ones. Instead, there were revelers on the street, crying out to her and thanking her as she made her way back home. Word, she guessed, traveled through Kirkwall quickly. She wasn’t sure what they saw there. She was bruised and bloodied, hair tangled, leaning heavily on her girlfriend as she favored one leg. All in all, she was not the idealized picture of a heroine that she’d dreamt up back when she had time to read. No one seemed to shy away from her despite any of this. By the time Merrill and Varric shuffled her into her house, she was carrying a few flowers and had the petals stuck to her sweat-soaked skin.

She felt her mouth moving. She wasn’t sure what she was saying. Merrill was simply nodding in agreement at whatever it was while she and Fenris (when did he get here?) helped her up the steps. Fenris’ hair was stuck to his forehead in a funny way. She giggled. Fenris looked a bit disturbed but refrained from replying.

Time collapsed in on itself the moment Merrill had removed her armor and laid her down. She remembered the sting as magic closed her wounds, of cool water being forced down her throat, of Merrill chattering away aimlessly despite Abigail being unable to answer her. She had visitors, she knew, but she couldn’t make out their faces and voices.

One morning, after living in the feverish half-awake state for what felt like an eternity, Abigail opened her eyes and saw the canopy above her head. She sat still for a few moments, tracing the patterns and embroidery with her eyes. It felt like it had been so long since she had been able to see the details in the cloth above her instead of an odd sea of red. Her tongue sat funny in her mouth from how dry it was, and she forced herself into an upright position, almost jumping when she saw someone was sitting at her desk.

“Varric?”

The dwarf in question turned towards her, a look of pure astonishment on his face. “Damn, Hawke. Only out for three days and you’re back up, coherent and everything. Blondie was sure it’d take at least a week.”

“Really? I mostly just feel sore,” she admitted, tracing a particularly purple bruise on her left thigh, “Where’s-”

“I sent Daisy downstairs to get the two of us something to eat. Do me a favor and don’t move too quickly, Fatale. Anders worked pretty hard closing you up. I’d hate to see his work undone just because you were impatient.”

“Ah, right. That makes sense.” Instead of trying to get herself up, Abigail inspected herself. She was dressed in short cotton pants and a sleeveless shirt, little more than undergarments (which might have been embarrassing had she woken up to anyone but Varric). Looking at herself, she understood why she needed to be half-naked. She was about 37 percent skin and 63 percent bandages at that point. Not to mention that she was sore in places that had never been sore before.

Before she had truly finished looking herself over, she heard the sound of footsteps coming closer to her bedroom.

“Varric, there wasn’t any pork in the kitchens, so I brought- Hawke!” Merrill exclaimed. She kept shifting forwards and backward on her feet, unsure what to do with the tray of food in her hands. Once Varric cooly removed it from her grasp, she all but jumped onto the bed to hug Abigail. Abigail winced when her arm rubbed into a bruise but fought to hide it. “Oh, ma vhenan! Don’t you ever scare me like that again! Thank the Creators!”

“I’m fine, Merrill. Have you been with me the whole time?”

“Of course! Well, not the whole time. I had to go to the bathroom sometimes and eat and I almost forgot to bathe for a bit. And I didn’t sleep in our bed because I was scared I’d kick in my sleep and open a stitch or, or something. So I made a little cot on the floor but Varric didn’t like it and told me I needed to sleep in a bed. But I was here most of the time! Anders wanted to stay as well but he has so many new patients after… everything. He told me how to clean your wounds and change the bandages. I hope I didn’t make a mess of it.” Merrill picked at one of the bandages wrapped around Abigail’s left hand. She brought it up to her mouth to gently kiss a finger.

“You did really well, Merrill. This is some of the best bandaging I’ve seen. Second to Anders’, I’d say.”

Merrill blushed. “Oh, I’m sure you say that to all the girls.”

“Only when I mean it.”

“You always mean it. I don’t think you could say something and not mean it.”

Varric cleared his throat. “Well, seeing as you both already forgot that I’m here, I’ll leave you two lovebirds to bond. I need to check my books back home, but I’ll send for Anders to come and check up on you.” Abigail half-heartedly threw a pillow at his retreating back and he laughed at the attempt. As her bedroom door shut, Abigail turned back to Merrill with a smile.

“One day, we’ll remember not to give him so much fodder for his books.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I think it’s kind of fun to be written about, at least a little.”

“You say that until he writes an entire serial about us,” Abigail muttered. She adjusted her posture so that Merrill could lay back on the bed with her. They talked about nothing in particular, Merrill tracing patterns on Abigail’s leg. The longer they sat there, the more Abigail began to feel her fatigue. She stifled a yawn and struggles to keep her eyes open.

“I think I’m falling asleep, Merrill.”

“Then sleep, vhenan. I’ll wake you whenever Anders gets here,” Merill had barely finished before Abigail had let her eyes finally flutter closed, her breaths slowing as sleep came for her again.


End file.
